


ID-10-T means 'I Love You' in Techie

by JadeSnowe



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Sex, Biting, Come Marking, Comeplay, Eventual Smut, Knotting, M/M, Mates, Scenting, Slow Burn, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 23:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17313998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeSnowe/pseuds/JadeSnowe
Summary: Stiles is a successful business owner now, but he never expected his childhood crush to become a customer. Let alone that the sourwolf would feel anything for the twitchy nerd that he had always been. He has a definite ID-10-T problem, only he's the idiot, and love is anything but predictable.





	ID-10-T means 'I Love You' in Techie

The swears that were coming out of his mouth were colorful enough to make a sailor blush, the sweat rolling down his neck adding to his irritation. Derek Hale was not pleased. He glared at his computer. He glared at his A/C unit. Then, just for good measure, he glared at his phone, which continued to buzz happily, keeping him apprised of all the mischief his family was getting up to.

 

He put his head in his hands, moaning to himself. Why did he break everything? His computer, his A/C, Laura’s ex’s nose… It was a miracle that his phone hadn’t found a way to die on him. With a resigned sigh, Derek jiggled the mouse, waking his computer up, before resolutely clicking on the little “Live Chat HELP” icon. His computer, expensive hardware that it was, had come with a 24 hour live helpline. Derek waited as the little beeps and boops of loading took place, watching the chat log open in a new window on his screen. 

 

WHAT CAN OUR SPECIALIZED TECHNOLOGY ANALYST HELP YOU WITH TODAY? Was the automated message that popped into the chat log. Derek sighed, typing out all the issues that had started that morning, including a list of everything he had, as a competent computer nerd, attempted to fix himself and how.

 

A sigh came through Derek's speakers. He froze. What. The. Actual. Fuck? He heard a voice mumbling, almost incoherently, it sounded like they were reading his tech complaint, aloud.

 

“Did you try turning it off and back on again?” A soft tenor, piled high with snark and sass, filtered into the small apartment. Derek grinned, listening to the man on the other end chuckle at his own joke. “Alright, alright, lemme see. Ok. Shit.” A sigh, the sound of keyboards clacking. Derek's computer chimed in response to receiving a new message in the Live Chat window.

 

The message was requesting remote access to Derek's computer. Derek assented. He really needed his computer to work. And restore the program it had crashed with a week's worth of progress.

 

“Great. Now what inept nonsense did you do to break down this baby?” More clacking keyboards. “Jeezus, you must be in IT, look at this…”

 

PLEASE WAIT WHILE OUR REPRESENTATIVE ANALYZES YOUR PROBLEM appeared in bold letters at the bottom of the chat log.

 

Derek glared at his computer. He was not inept. He knew exactly how to handle his computer. It was probably a virus. He hadn’t done anything unusual. Derek growled, a flash of  blue sparking in his eyes. If anything… yeah. Derek's fingers tapped on the keyboard.

 

INEPT IS LEAVING YOUR OUTBOUND MIC ON WHEN ACCEPTING A NEW CALL.

 

“Not now, sweetie, Daddy's trying to fix your computer.” A few mouse clicks. The man was ignoring him. Derek’s growl turned into a snort of laughter. Seriously. Who was this spaz? Derek cracked a grin, unable to hold on to his anger in the face of such humor. Or nerdery. The man was keeping up a running commentary referencing World of Warcraft and the TV show Leverage. So Derek started responding in the Live Chat- partially to annoy the IT guy, partially because sitting idle bored him.

 

ELIOT WAS 100% AN UNDERAPPRECIATED GENIUS. HOW DARE YOU.

 

MY NELF WOULD KICK YOUR TROLL BUTT.

 

STEALING IS BAD. EVEN FOR MY BENEFIT. AND HOW WOULD YOU EVEN STEAL THE SPECIFIC CODE YOU'RE LOOKING FOR? I DONT THINK THATS A THING.

 

YOU HAVE A CUTE VOICE.

 

Derek stared at the text. He hadn’t meant to type that. Shit. Fuck. Derek thumped his head on his desk. What the actual fuck had prompted his fingers to do that? Bad fingers, no lube. He groaned, damnit, he needed to get laid. His mind and fingers were working against him.

 

“OH MY GAWD, WHAT!? WHAT DO YOU WANT? I'M WORKING AS FAST AS…” The frustrated voice in his speakers was punctuated by angry clicking, followed by a gurgling noise. “Fuuuuuck,” whispered emphatically.

 

Derek heard what sounded like a frantic battle to find the mic wire, which was followed by a yelp and a thud, then silence. Not as in the tech guy went quite, but as in the silence of dead air. He’d successfully managed to turn off his mic. Derek grinned at his computer screen when a large PLEASE HOLD appeared in the chat box. Nerd.

 

#

 

Stiles stared at his computer from his spot on the ground. His fingers twitching at the keyboard. How to salvage this. How, how, how… Crap. He’d really screwed the pooch on this one. Oh man, Lydia was gonna kill him. Technically he wasn’t supposed to even be doing the tech support stuff. But he just got so boooored. Ugh, crap.

 

As if summoned by the scent of his fear, Lydia Martin, Stiles business partner and friend, knocked on his office door. His eyes slid from his computer screen to Lydia, guilt etched into every inch of movement. His friend looked the part of immaculate beauty and business owner in a beautiful white suit jacket and skirt, a crimson blouse with matching heels, her strawberry blonde hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail.

 

“H-hey, Lyds,” Stiles said, doing his best not to sink behind his desk when she lifted a single, perfectly shaped eyebrow in his direction. 

 

“Stiles,” her voice practically froze his flesh. Oh yeah. She knew what he was doing. He was so dead. “I've overlooked your penchant for shirking your responsibilities as partner to dabble in the technical areas as I understand it is a passion for you. However,” her voice cracked at him like a wet whip. “It is intolerable for your passion to potentially alienate such a wealthy client as Derek Hale.” 

 

Stiles swallowed hard. He hadn't realized the user on the other end was Derek Hale. But of course Lyds had. She knew everything. Absolutely everything. His heart constricted a bit in his chest. They'd worked so hard to put together this company. It couldn't just fall apart because he got fucking bored.

 

“Fortunately, it seems that he was more amused than put out by your incompetence, so we'll use that and you will go in person and make a very formal apology.”

 

Stiles opened his mouth to argue. He hated field work and strangers. Especially hot, rich strangers that had been on the cover of WIRED magazine. But he saw Lydia's eyes narrow, almost daring him to say something. He decided against it. It was just one embarrassing apology. What's the worst that could happen?

 

#

 

Derek had gotten bored with waiting on the technician to come back to the chat and was busy in his kitchen, pulling out the fixings for dinner, when he heard the ping of a new message. He did not run back to his computer. He walked. Quickly. Fuck, he needed to get out more.

 

A tiny calendar with times had popped into the chat window. Beneath it was a message asking him to pick the most convenient time for a technician to come over and deal with his computer in person. Soonest was preferable, so he clicked that day on the calendar, mildly surprised and pleased to see a time listed. He clicked it, locking himself into a date with a technician for 7pm. He looked at his phone, realizing he only had a little more than an hour. 

 

He went back into the kitchen, determined to get his dinner in the oven, and refusing to hope that the cute voice on the other end of the mic was the technician who was going to be showing up on his doorstep.


End file.
